


i must go on standing

by pelnakhara



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, all tags will be updated as each new chapter is posted, basic trigger warnings for mentions of all the things the templars did to mages, don't read if you're a cullen stan, entirely pro-mages and pro-anders, fuck the chantry, justice is a spirit not a demon, lots of serious mage bonding, so hints of past abuse / tranquility / etc, sort of implied m!hawke/anders but its not a focal point of anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelnakhara/pseuds/pelnakhara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is hiding out in Skyhold, and there's only so long he can remain locked away before the Inquisitor's companions start taking notice of him.  As is natural for such a group of busybodies, they reach out.  Gifts are exchanged, autographs begged for, and people are punched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i must go on standing

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write anders interacting with the companions of inquisition, with an emphasis on healing and helping anders trust people in a way that is very hard after how harshly everyone reacted to his efforts for the mage rebellion. this happened!

When he first arrives to Skyhold, he knows who she is, dressed up in her Orlesian fineries as though she had always been nobility. Perhaps she was, he thought-- it isn't as though anyone from a circle truly knows anything about their own past, much less each other's. Nevertheless, her comfort in the sphere of nobles irritates him, and he hears her parrot off the templars' bile like it's truth, putting down the hopes of every apostate who had known that the circles were unjust.

  
It takes him three weeks to gather up the ability to look her in the eyes without wanting to scream. Every time he sees Vivienne, Madame de Fer, the Iron Lady of the Orlesian Court, Anders thinks about all the times senior enchanters had looked down upon him for being too troublesome, too loud, never appreciating all the hard work the Chantry put into keeping them safe and comfortable. When he finally manages to stand in the same room with her, he vomits, and sees the recoiled reactions of everyone else out of the corner of his eyes. But in hers he sees something different. Sympathy.

  
He avoids her desperately for some time after that, until shockingly, she is the one to come to him. She knocks once on the door of the room Hawke had wrangled out of the Inquisitor for him, before letting herself in. Anders watches her warily from his place at his small desk, moving from his hunched position over a piece of vellum, one eyebrow raised.

  
"What do you want? Come to jeer at the _crazy apostate terrorist_ like everyone else? I don't have the time." The words spit from his lips before he can think, though he isn't entirely sure he would have stopped himself from following that impulse if he had thought about it. He is bitter, and angry about all the things that Vivienne represents, sitting proudly on her chaise lounge and watching all the victims of the Chantry mill about below her like ants.

  
Her mouth curls into something akin to a regretful smile, and he can see the shift in the set of her shoulders-- from rigid to uncertain, and then determinedly back to rigid. "There's no need to be so hostile, darling. I only came with a gift." It is then that he notices the box in her hands, balanced carefully atop her palms. The rings she wears glint in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass window as she places the box gingerly on his bed, and steps back, then out the door with a firm click of the latch.

  
Anders sits at that desk for hours, at war with himself over even touching the box. He loses time, blank spaces that he knows are Justice trying to help him, in whatever way the spirit knows how. The sun is gone from the sky by the time he rouses himself from the dissociated state, and finally moves to sit on his own bed. He can't deny his curiosity, or the practicality of accepting a gift from someone who can clearly afford to throw money away. But the idea of accepting charity from Vivienne sends a hot streak of anger through him, as he's absolutely sure she's only doing this for some hidden personal motive. _It isn't as though she's ever cared about the rest of us_ , he tells himself.

  
He fights with the idea of burning the box without even opening it, for a while, even goes so far as to allow the mana to collect in his hands. The sparks light up the dim room as one trembling hand reaches forth, so close he sees the paper on the box start to blacken. At the last minute, he snaps his hand back and sends the flame to a candle by his bed. He shoves the box off the bed with a disgusted feeling low in his stomach and goes to sleep.  
Three days pass with that damned box sitting on his desk, looking as out of place as anything of that expense would amongst the tattered collection of his things. He doesn't see or hear from Vivienne at all, and the worst sort of paranoia runs through his mind, wondering if it's poison or a trap or something equally awful. He shoves the thoughts away, though, because he hates the idea of mistrusting another mage so vehemently. He doesn't want to believe her willing to kill him, no matter how much their opinions differ.

  
It is that insistence in his head that brings him around to opening the box at last. Inside, there is a bundle of jade cloth, folded neatly and screaming money. He pulls it out slowly, watching the soft fabric unravel in front of him to reveal a robe. Though the materials used to make it are anything but cheap, it is thick and practical, as well as comfortable to the touch. Anders furrows his brow and examines it slowly, seeing the feathers on the shoulders and unable to help the smile that comes to his face.

  
He turns back to the box and finds a matching cloak, fur-lined, in a slightly darker color. He marvels at how warm it looks, and gets so caught up in the clothes that he nearly misses the note stashed at the bottom of the box. It's folded in half, a single page, all crisp edges and neatness. There is a spark of hesitation, but he lifts it out of the box as well and unfolds the vellum with callus-worn fingertips.

  
**_It isn't proper for anyone to go about in the rags you wear-- it's an eyesore, as well as detracting from the image of the Inquisition. If you are going to be here, you shouldn't muck up the place with your old robes. I know you'll find this suits you._ **  
**_Enjoy the feathers. It took me an age to find the hideous things._ **  
**_Vivienne_ **

  
A sound pulls on his attention as he finishes reading the short note, and he recognizes it slowly as his own laughter, unfamiliar as it is. Almost reverently, he runs a hand along the robe now sitting on his bed, smile still tugging at his lips. He understands the message, even under all the sharp words and coldness. Even despite all their differences, he sees that his message was understood by some-- mages have to work together, or they'll only fall to the Chantry once more.

It leaves him in high spirits for the rest of the day, and the very next day he wears the robes as he walks to the small clinic he's been allowed to have in Skyhold.  
If he sees Vivienne looking down off her balcony at him, it is a coincidence, and she's surely not smiling up there.

**Author's Note:**

> i intend to have all of the inquisition companions + the advisors in this fic, so the tags will be updated as i add each new chapter
> 
> feedback is appreciated, and you can contact me on tumblr at jeffmoreau or twitter @kremisius to talk to me about this there!!


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